


A Balm to Soothe, a Balm to Heal

by waterofthemoon



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode Tag, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, Tumblr Prompt, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-08-01
Packaged: 2020-07-29 00:14:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20072953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterofthemoon/pseuds/waterofthemoon
Summary: After Crowley walks into a church on Aziraphale's behalf, the least Aziraphale can do is offer him assistance. Immediately follows the 1941 scene in the miniseries.





	A Balm to Soothe, a Balm to Heal

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this art! https://eabevella.tumblr.com/post/186305537951/sketch-after-the-church-scene I saw it on Tumblr, and the ficlet to accompany it sprung from my fingers, fully formed.

"My feet are fine, angel."

Aziraphale pretends not to hear his protests and wraps Crowley's foot in another layer of soft linen. Beneath the cloth is a layer of herbal burn salve, mixed by Aziraphale's own hand and blessed to promote a quick recovery.

Holy healing, applied directly, would only make things worse. For demons, the pain of being scorched by divine magic touches the true form as well as the body. But he can do this, if nothing else—he can treat the burns on Crowley's corporation the human way, relieve him of some of the outward discomfort. He can make up for lost time and keep Crowley safe with him just a little longer.

Only an hour before, Crowley came to save him from his own follies, and Crowley—Crowley had—

It almost doesn't bear thinking about, what Crowley's done for him. Saving Aziraphale's life could be excused. Aziraphale himself did that miracle, after all. But rescuing the books that Aziraphale hadn't given a thought to, driving him home, sitting now ensconced in his bookshop and submitting to his hands—

It's dangerous. The things Aziraphale wants are dangerous, and enormous, and too complicated and swirling to be coalesced into words. And, he is beginning to think, Crowley might feel something of the same way, and that would never be allowed.

"Angel?" Crowley snaps his fingers in front of Aziraphale's face. Not a miracle, just to get his attention. Aziraphale looks up, trying and most likely failing to school his face into behaving.

Crowley is smiling crookedly at him and still obligingly holding Aziraphale's healer's kit and the roll of bandages. Not nearly guarded enough, Aziraphale thinks, for all that they're alone. "There you are. Thought I lost you there for a second."

Aziraphale shakes his head and moves to dressing Crowley's other foot. "My apologies. I was just thinking." But he hears Crowley's underlying message, loud and clear, and continues. "I could have gotten out of there myself. You know I could."

Crowley scoffs. "And a very fine job you were doing of it, weren't you?" he retorts, tone suddenly turned bitter.

"I haven't seen you for _eighty years_," Aziraphale shoots back, and then it all comes spilling out, much to his chagrin, a tiny sliver of what he feels for Crowley. "Where have you been? What of our Arrangement? I wrote you letters, apologizing—I went to the park, hoping to find you, and you were never—where were you?"

Crowley looks away. "I got your letters. When I woke up."

"When you—" Aziraphale wants to scream with frustration. Some of it does come out in his hands as he works on Crowley, who lets out a hiss of pain between his teeth. Aziraphale immediately regrets it and gentles his touch. “When was this?"

"Three days ago?" Crowley offers. "And most of that time was re-orientation and explaining myself to head office, but I looked for you, Aziraphale, I swear it. And I found you, didn't I?"

Aziraphale looks into his eyes and relents, as he always does. It's no good being cross with Crowley, and anyway, they've spent too much time here together already. He doesn't want to waste it on arguing. "I suppose you did. I'm very grateful for your help, you know."

He glances down and is surprised to see that he's done with his task, both of Crowley's feet wrapped tidily in white cloth bandages. Aziraphale hesitates, then leans over to brush his lips across the top of each. A benediction, a blessing, a way to show Crowley he's not alone.

When he looks up, Crowley's mouth is parted, and his golden eyes are blown wide. "Aziraphale—"

"There, all done," Aziraphale says. He pats Crowley's knee and stands up, moving away from Crowley before he does anything else he'll regret. "You'll have to manage the rest of it, I'm afraid, but your body should heal nicely."

"Aziraphale, wait—"

"Don't mention it," Aziraphale says. He fidgets with his hands and finds he's having trouble meeting Crowley's eyes. "Please. We're both going to be in quite enough trouble as it is."

Crowley nods, the movement jerky, and restores his glasses and shoes with a thought. The hat he carries, the brim twisting in his fingers. "I'll see you around, then?"

"You'll remember where to find me now, I expect," Aziraphale can't resist saying as he gestures around the bookshop. Crowley inclines his head in acknowledgement and silent apology.

Then Crowley waves goodbye and walks out the door, leaving behind Aziraphale and Aziraphale's bookshop and a valise of prophecy books, and taking with him, as he always does, a chunk of Aziraphale's foolish heart. But this time, Aziraphale knows for certain now, Crowley's also leaving behind a piece of his own.


End file.
